


no one sees

by HamAndSwiss



Series: if you wanna mess with the eagles... [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Death, Everyone Is Gay, Faked Suicides, M/M, More Death, Sadness, all the death, angelica is 10/10, eacker is a police officer, heathers!, i'll probably expand this series later, john adams doesn't have a real job anyway, like... james is weird, there's like 3 johns, this is ohio why do you have sweet tea, thomasssssssss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18674524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HamAndSwiss/pseuds/HamAndSwiss
Summary: Heathers AU!James is Heather C.Alexander is Heather M.Jay is Heather D.John is Veronica.Charles is JD.Thomas is Kurt.Peggy is Martha.





	no one sees

“John?” the voice on the other end of the phone line asks. John glances over at Charles with a shrug, before replying, “Yup, this is John. What do you need, Thomas?” There’s an audible sigh of relief, and Thomas quickly blurts out, “So, uh, I know you and the Feds kinda parted on a bad note last night, but Je- um, _James_ needs someone to make sure he took his medicine this morning. So… um… if you could head over to his house and make sure he did that, it’d be great. Thanks.”

John casts another disbelieving glance at Charles, but Thomas still continues. “Uh… you can bring your boyfriend along with you if you want. Please. It won’t take long. I just… can’t go over today.” Charles rolls his eyes at hearing that, but leans forward and says into the phone, “We’ll be there in ten. Charlie _out_.” Thomas gives another relieved sigh, and begins to list off all the medicines that James needs to be given. John writes them all down, until Thomas is done and the conversation is now just awkward. Then the phone thunks down with an audible thud, and John leans back against his boyfriend. “Well, guess we’d better go tend to the mythic _biotch_ , huh?” he grumbles. Charles laughs, pressing a kiss to John’s curly hair. “Sounds like it. Get dressed and then we’ll go.”

The two boys throw on clothes, unsure of what to wear when seeing one’s best-friend-slash-worst-enemy. Finally, they’re dressed in a strange mix of formal and casual, and ready to go. Charles opens up the door to his car for John, giving him a chivalrous smile as he does so. “Tending to the biotch, my favorite thing to do on a Friday morning,” Charles cracks, climbing into the driver’s seat and fastening his seatbelt.

As the car drives down the roads, Charles hums along to the songs on the radio and John stares out the window, contemplating the events of the last twenty-four hours. James made him forge a note to Peggy, inviting her to Thomas’ party. The party itself was a mess. Almost everyone, including John, was completely drunk no more than an hour in. Peggy showed up. Some crap went down. John doesn’t remember the rest for the most part, only yelling at James and then going over to Charles’ house for… some reason.

“We’re here,” Charles says, breaking John out of his thoughts. The curly-haired boy smiles gratefully at his boyfriend, opening up the car door and bounding up the front steps to the door. He waits for Charles to come up next to him, then rings the doorbell.

After a few seconds, a short boy, James, opens the door, and rolls his eyes when he sees who it is. “John. Pleasure as always. Thomas sent you, I’m assuming.” John nods, and James steps backwards to permit the two boys to enter, Charles closing the door after himself. “So, I’m also assuming that Thomas gave you a list of exactly what I’m supposed to take. I guess he thinks I’m gonna kill myself if I don’t have someone to watch me take my meds,” James continues, bustling off into the kitchen.

Charles and his boyfriend follow after the shorter boy, the former’s eyes wide with how much this house is screaming _We’re rich_. When they reach the kitchen, John leans up against the marble countertop and queries, “How do you walk so fast after that party we had last night?” James looks up from where he’s digging in the cabinet for medicine bottles, and rolls his eyes again. “I don’t drink or do drugs, unlike the rest of you. Duh.” That seems to make sense to the other boy, as he nods and returns to obsessively checking the list of medicines he holds in his hand.

“Alright, James, how about you just go sit down somewhere and let us bring you what you need,” Charles interrupts, throwing a charming smile at the shorter boy. It seems to work, as James blinks in surprise, gives a shrug, and wanders off into another room.

John stifles a yawn, before looking back down at the paper. “One blue pill from that container there,” he says, pointing. Charles unscrews the top of the bottle, shaking one pill into a medicine cup. John continues, until the cup is appropriately filled. Then he gives a sigh, squinting at the last written line. “And then liquid painkillers. Can you get that one, and get a cup of water too?” he asks.

His boyfriend gives a thumbs-up, grabbing another cup for the liquid medicine. While John’s back is turned, Charles casts his eyes around the room, finally seeing a bottle of drain cleaner. There’s another sneaky glance around, before he pours some of that cleaner into the medicine cup, squirting another few squirts into an almost-full water bottle. When John turns back around, his boyfriend is smiling brightly, holding the cup of painkillers and a water bottle. “Alright, great. Let’s go.”

The two boys find James in the library, reading a thick book of poetry. He looks up when they come in and stand in front of his couch, though not without rolling his eyes. “Took you long enough. Now pass it.”

Charles watches expectantly as James dumps the cup of pills into his mouth, then takes a swig of water, then drinks the cup with the “liquid medicine,” washing that down with more from the water bottle. Once he’s done, James blinks once and looks up at John. “I suppose I should be a good host or whatnot. But I’d rather not. If y’all want a ride to school though, I can give you that. Just wait for a few minutes while I get ready.” John nods, smiling down at the other boy. “Sounds good. Thanks James.” The shorter rolls his eyes for at least the third time now, before standing up and walking upstairs. John and Charles share a look, before they both sit down on the couch that James just vacated.

A few minutes later, there’s a heavy thump from upstairs, and John’s eyes widen. “What was that?” For his part, Charles does a good job looking surprised too, responding, “I dunno. We’d better check.”

They run upstairs, John in the front and calling out, “James? You good?” When he sticks his head into the bathroom, he gasps, softly saying, “Uh… Charlie… I think you… I think you might want to see this.” Charles looks in too, only to be greeted with a scene of James on the bathroom floor, toothbrush still in his hand, glasses on the floor next to him, and chest not rising and falling.

John rushes forward, putting two fingers to the base of James’ neck, then looking up at Charles with a stricken look. “Oh my God. He’s dead. I somehow killed my best friend.” His boyfriend shrugs, hopping up to sit on the bathroom counter. “At the same time, he was your worst enemy. So that kinda cancels it out.” John glares. “You don’t get it! He’s _dead_! They’re gonna have to send my transcripts to the state penitentiary!”

“Okay, okay, chill,” Charles soothes, racking his brain for an idea. “Hey… Jack,” he finally says. “Do you still have that list of the medicines? I just thought of something.” John shoots him a suspicious glare, warily handing over the paper. Charles runs his finger down the list, looking for one item in particular. _Prozac (f_ _luoxetine) (one blue pill, in white bottle w/ label.)_ “That’s it!” Charles exclaims. “Prozac is an antidepressant.” John raises one eyebrow, clearly unsure where his boyfriend is going with this, and Charles’ face turns deadly serious. “We make it look like a suicide. It makes sense. Boy has a history of depression or eating disorder or whatever he’s taking this for.” John quietly interjects with, “He said he was taking it for major depression and OCD.” Charles snaps his fingers, smiling down at his companion. “Right, right. So, he’s stressed out about being popular, and relapsing with all his issues. He decides to end it. He overdoses on pills. We, the caring friends who came by to check on him, found him like this. As long as it looks like a suicide, they won’t investigate that much. Alright?”

Though it is obviously against his better judgement, John slowly nods, making Charles’ smile widen. “Fantastic. Now, forge a letter. Think long and hard. Conjure him up in your mind. You said depression and OCD, right? Okay. What would someone who was struggling with those, what would they say? What would his last statement be to a cold and unfeeling world?”

John shuts his eyes tight, and they only pop open after several minutes. “Uh… got… I got it. Gimme a paper and a pen, please.” Charles hands them to his boyfriend, and he begins to scrawl words down. “Um… Dear World. Believe it or not… um… I knew about fear. I knew the way that lonely nights stung. I hid behind smirks and crazy thick books. I… uh, let’s see… oh! I learned to kiss boys with my tongue. Which was not fun, let me assure you.”

Charles gives a laugh at that, reading over his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Good job, Jack. Keep going. This has to be good enough to fool the cops.” With that, he strides off, leaving John there alone, next to James’ dead body.

 _And the world… it held me down. It weighed like the vast and unfathomable load of all the expectations placed on my shoulders, all the potential I was told I had. Every time I got less than an A+ on a test. Every time I didn’t do beyond absolutely perfectly like I should have_. The scrawling pen stops, John tapping it to his lips in thought. “No one thinks a boy like me has feelings… They’ll never get my insecurity,” he mumbles, then writing that down too. “I am more than what I’ve been told to be, but no one sees it.”  He can almost hear the voice of James in his ear, laughing at the presumptuous loser who thought he could write James’ fake suicide note.

_They couldn’t see past the fact that I led the most well-known clique in the school. They would never look me in the eyes. No one ever would. But under all my rudeness and bluster was a freaking terrified boy, who clings to his pillow and cries. I was trapped behind prison bars of my own making. They have given me scores of scars, and it’s all my own fault._

If James were here, he would have rolled his eyes.

_No one thinks a boy like me has substance. Is this who I’m supposed to be? I am more than someone to be taken advantage of and only used to further your own purposes. No one truly sees me for who I am. They all refuse to._

“Hey, Jack, you almost done?” Charles asks, wandering over, a glass of sweet tea in his hand. John finishes up the note with a flourishing signature, before glancing up at his boyfriend. “Now I am. Where’d you get that drink from?” Charles gives an easy smile, responding, “The fridge. This loser family is full of stereotypical Southerners, of course they had sweet tea on hand.” John lets out a quick laugh, standing up and brushing off his pants. “We’re literally in Ohio though. But, y’know, why not. Sweet tea fits everywhere.” Again, Charles smiles. “I know. Now… we’d better call into the police.”

That immediately makes the mood much more somber, and John’s shoulders deflate. “Right…” he mumbles. “Right.” Charles pats him on the back, picking up the handset of the phone and dialing 9-1-1. John can only hear one side of the conversation, but it sounds like it’s going well. Somehow, Charles is spectacular at fake-crying. That’s interesting. Once he hangs up the phone, he turns to John and shoots him a bright smile. “Some emergency response team will be here in a bit. You should go to the bathroom _he_ ’s in. I’ll be down here to let them in, and I will show them upstairs. Try to look really sad when we come, okay? The more tears, the better. And let me do the talking.”

John nods, then scampers up the stairs and into the bathroom where James still lies. The short boy is just as John and Charles left him. Displaced glasses, toothbrush in hand, red bowtie, white dress shirt, and khaki shorts. John sinks down onto the floor, staring at the slight scowl on James’ face. The tears don’t have to be faked, they just come. John disliked this boy, of course, but that doesn’t mean he wanted him to end up _dead_. Of all the things to happen.

“Jack, they’re here! Get ready!” Charles calls from downstairs. John nods numbly, wiping his eyes and gently reaching out to squeeze James’ cold hand. Footsteps on the stairs, then Charles, a police officer, and an EMT burst into the room. Somehow, John gives them a shaky smile, which apparently warrants a thumbs-up from his boyfriend. The police officer frowns, reaching his hand down to shake John’s. “Officer Eacker.” The EMT woman does so too, adding a reassuring smile onto her introduction of, “Angelica Schuyler. You must be John. My sister, Peggy, has talked about you at length.”

Charles and Officer Eacker talk for several minutes, with the former really pouring out the tears. Finally, the officer sighs heavily, and gestures for Angelica to load James’ body onto a stretcher, grabbing the note next to the body as he goes. Those two leave, and Charles breaks out smiling. “We did it! They weren’t suspicious!” For some reason, John finds it hard to smile in return. He just wants to go to school. Or better yet, go back in time, before any of this even happened.

~~~

Three hours later, John is in the office, handing in an attendance sheet for his physics teacher, when he hears a very _interesting_ conversation.

“Suicide is a prevailing issue among our children. They’re _dying_ , Adams,” the AP English teacher, Mr. Washington, hisses. “We should get all the students together and talk this through.” There’s a chortle, and a voice that John can tell is Mr. Adams, the principal, replies, “Thanks George. Tell us when the shuttle lands, please.”

A huff of disappointment, and Mr. Washington’s voice gets colder. “I’m telling you, Adams, every single one of us misjudged James Madison. You thought he was anti-social, verging on vaguely sociopathic, right? Don’t try to deny it.” John peeks around the corner and sees the portly principal nods. The English teacher has a smug look on his face as he continues. “ _I_ thought he was self-centered to a fault. Students think he’s rude. Our colleagues have reported many things. Standoffish. Miserably quiet. Perfectly horrible. But we _all_ were wrong. This is the loveliest suicide note I’ve ever read.” John knows what the teacher is going to read before he even does. Of course John knows. He _wrote_ the thing!

“Box up my books for Goodwill. Give my college savings to a refugee program or something,” Mr. Washington reads loudly. “Donate my truck (though it’s old) to a program that helps crippled kids or those druggie parents on the bad side of town. Give away my hats, even the beanie my brother knitted for me. Give away my CDs too. I won’t need them where I’m going. Also, my suits, my ties, then that old TV I have tucked away in the corner of my room somewhere.”

There’s a silence over all the office, then the lady at the front desk deliberately clears her throat. “Honey, I think you should go back to your class now,” she says, glancing up at a stunned John. He nods slowly, before pivoting on one heel and walking out.

~~~

            Something comes of the overheard conversation not even thirty minutes later. The old PA system crackles to life, and the voice of Mr. Adams booms out, “We will be dismissing early today.” There’s a cheer from the entire school, but that stops when Mr. Washington cuts in on the microphone and smugly announces, “They’re fueling up the buses now, so that means we have extra time. All students, report to the cafeteria, so that we may discuss the issue that has rocked our school to its core.”

            Now the cheers turn into grumbles. John shrugs, packing up his backpack and hefting it onto his shoulders. Doesn’t matter much to him. They’ll probably make some cheesy speech about talking to people about your issues and _not_ killing yourself. Still… he’s the one who brought this on. Well, him and Charles.

~~~

            The cafeteria is crowded as anything. John sees the two remaining members of the Feds, Jay and Alexander, hanging out by the lunch line. He also sees Charles from across the room, with his boyfriend shooting him a grin.

            “Alright, alright, settle down,” Mr. Washington booms. “As you may or may not know, James Madison, a senior, killed himself this morning.” There’s a mass hush over the crowd, and a few wiped tears. “We here at the school want all of our students to be safe, and this incident weighs heavily upon our hearts. Our thoughts and condolences go out to the Madison family, especially Hercules, James’ brother, who is one of our freshmen.”

            All eyes turn to a boy in a grey knit beanie, and he seems to shrink back. John notices, with some amusement, that Hercules actually seems to be taller than his older brother is. Was. _Was_. Mr. Washington clears his throat, leaning back into the microphone. “I have mimeographed copies of the suicide note, so that you may all get a deeper look into James’ anguished mind.”

            A short sophomore next to John passes him a stack of papers, and he takes one, despite already knowing everything it says. Once everyone has had a chance to read the notes, the hushed side conversations begin. “If you have something you wish to say, you are invited up to the microphone to say it,” Mr. Washington announces.

            The first person up there is Alexander. He glances around the crowded room, fiddling with his fingers, before quickly starting to speak. “I… I never knew he had been getting worse. He told us about his OCD and all, and I’d assumed from some things his boyfriend said that he had depression… but I thought he had that under control. God… now I just feel so bad…” With that he walks off, swiping at his eyes.

            Another boy that John has never seen comes up, mutters something about how bad things must have been going for James to end up doing this, and stomps off, hands jammed in his pockets. Then there’s a girl in a black pencil dress and neon pink socks, who tries to make some speech about how James must not have been all that mean, that it was just him trying to cover up his crippling insecurities.

            In the back of John’s mind, he can almost see and hear James. Eyes wide behind his glasses, curly black hair a mess, tie off to one side, mumbling, _I didn’t mean to be a snatch_. He shakes that image away quickly. Best to get over it.

            Probably more people talk. None of it is important. None of them are good speakers. The best speaker this school has ever had will rest in the ground with James Madison. He didn’t say much all at once, not on his own, but he passed copies of speeches to his boyfriend for Thomas to read during any sort of club meeting or whatnot. Not even the purple-coated, loud-mouthed kid could pull off anything quite so articulate as what was written on the papers that James gave him. John only knows this because he saw it in action once, when Thomas had to give some speech as the quarterback at the beginning of the football season, but James stayed up the whole night to write it himself.

            The kids are dismissed to their buses. John gives a nervous smile to Hercules, and tries to ignore the red-rimmed eyes. Charles runs over, wrapping his arm around John’s waist and babbling on about one thing or another. Like this morning didn’t happen.

            Like a boy isn’t _dead_.


End file.
